A Future UnSeen
by Mage Myrddin
Summary: RE-WRITE OF HEADMASTER HARRY POTTER. A drop of innocent blood changes everything, and a world is shaken as fate is re-written. For what is a prophecy to a prophet, and what is a second chance at life for a dead man? A blessing? A curse? Harry Potter doesn't know. He just thinks this is going to play havoc with his head. Kind-of-Seer!Harry, Future-Time-travel!Harry, Headmaster!Harry
1. Chapter 1 - Duty Of Care

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

 **Chapter 1 - Duty Of Care**

Harry Potter had always considered the castle his home. Unlike other students, he had no family to go back to at the end of each year, and as such, the school was important to him in a way that it wasn't to others - not even the teachers. This in itself wasn't important. Plenty of orphans had viewed the school as a home over the centuries. The thing was, during most of those 'centuries', the Ministry hadn't placed a sadistic madwoman in a position of unrivalled power at the school - a sadistic madwoman that the castle itself wanted to eject. Unfortunately, she could only interfere once the toad had crossed a line, and even then, Hogwarts couldn't change things herself. She would have to appoint someone else to that task.

You might be wondering now what Harry Potter's thoughts on Hogwarts had to do with anything, and the answer is this: With magic, intention is key.

* * *

Sat in a chair by the fire in the deserted Gryffindor common room, Harry scowled at the fire with another bandage around his hand. He'd had another detention with Umbridge a few hours ago, and he was still bleeding a little from the extended use of the blood quill. Ron and Hermione had gone up to bed ages ago, but Harry had remained awake, a feeling of energy and restlessness ruining any chance of sleep.

Despite the opinion of Snape, Malfoy, the Slytherins and Umbridge, Harry wasn't stupid. He knew that there was no way blood quills were made for use in a school, and an afternoon in the library had confirmed his suspicions; use of blood quills on a minor was not only a punishable offence, but the quills themselves were restricted class B dark objects, for use in binding contracts only. Traditionally, Purebloods used them to sign marriage contracts.

Harry was also well aware that he couldn't risk telling anyone or lodging a formal complaint against Umbridge until it was proven that Voldemort had returned. As it was now, Fudge would find some way to paint Harry as the bad guy - or at least the insane one. After all, the scars on his hand proved only that he had used a blood quill to write 'I must not tell lies'. If he was lucky, Fudge would get rid of any evidence against Umbridge and say that he used the quill willingly, then have him sentenced to the Mind Healers in St Mungos for being crazy. If he was unlucky, he'd be sentenced to Azkaban for five years for being in possession of a class B restricted dark object and Fudge would use the public outcry to further discredit Dumbledore.

Harry couldn't risk that happening. He knew why the Sorting Hat had almost placed him in Slytherin, and the information he had against Umbridge would be put to better use when he was back to being the public's darling, much as he despised the attention. Right now, it would only be used against him.

He couldn't help but think back wistfully to the days where they had run around solving mysteries, rather than having to deal with all this cloak and dagger stuff they had to deal with now. There was so many things he still didn't know; why Dumbledore wasn't even looking at him, why he had to learn Occlumency, why Snape was teaching him Occlumency without actually telling him anything (besides the obvious hatred) what the weapon in the Ministry was, and why he had seen the attack on Arthur Weasley - from the eyes of Nagini. There was so much he still didn't know, and it didn't look like he'd be finding out anytime soon either.

The portrait hole creaked as it opened behind Harry, and he looked around at the Gryffindor who was entering. It was almost curfew; whoever had stayed out this late was cutting it pretty close.

Colin Creevey stumbled in, and even from this distance Harry could tell he was upset. Standing quickly, Harry strode over to the fourth year.

"Colin? What's wrong?" He asked, eyes taking in the boy's tear-stained face and bloody handkerchief clutched to the back of his hand. Colin shook his head and tried to move past him, but Harry reached out and caught his shoulder gently, before firmly capturing Colin's wrist and pulling away the bloody handkerchief.

A drop of blood welled up from the words that had been carved into Colin's hand, dripping off the end of his thumb and hitting the stone floor, but Harry was so enraged that he didn't notice. Red clouded his vision but he didn't let his hands tighten around Colin's wrist for fear of accidently hurting the boy. Nevertheless the torches flared up in a display of accidental magic as Harry's magic reacted to his anger.

 _Harry Potter is a liar and a bad influence. I must avoid him._ Harry read the words again, but felt no less anger than before. How dare she! How dare that hag drag others into her campaign against him!

"Let's take you to Madame Pomfrey." Harry said with no room in his voice for argument. Colin shook his head violently. "No. She said I shouldn't, I have to let it heal n-naturally so that the message 'sinks in.'" He shuddered. "She said she'd know if I went to Madame Pomfrey for help."

Harry's blood boiled, but he tried to contain it. Umbridge wasn't here for him to yell at, so there wasn't any point to him blowing up. He tried to think of where he could get help instead, but couldn't think of anything. He didn't want to just use Myrtlap Essence for Colin since it still left a scar - his own hand was proof of that. Colin didn't deserve to be scarred because the Ministry hated Harry. No, he needed actual medical attention, which meant one of the teachers who knew something about healing. As far as he knew, that ruled out any of the elective teachers with the possible exception of Hagrid who knew how to patch up creatures, but Harry somehow doubted that the gamekeeper knew how to heal a would inflicted by a dark object. Quite besides which, Hagrid couldn't keep his mouth shut, no matter how much Harry cared for the man. That left core subject teachers; McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, Binns, Umbridge, and Snape.

Umbridge was obviously out straight away, as was Binns. Neither McGonagall nor Flitwick knew anything about healing as far as he knew. Professor Sprout might know some plants that would be good for healing, but Harry didn't know her that well and suspected that the Herbology Professor might try to convince them to tell someone else about the use of a dark object on minors. That left Snape.

Harry crinkled his nose in distaste. He really didn't like the potions professor, and his Occlumency lessons weren't improving his opinion of the man. His first instinct was to immediately discount the possibility of the man's help, but Harry forced himself to think rationally. There really wasn't anyone else he could get help from, and as a potions master, Harry reckoned he probably knew how to help. The only question was whether he would, and whether he'd tell Umbridge.

Remembering the incident where Umbridge inspected Snape's class, Harry doubted Snape would go out of his way to help the toad. Gulping and ignoring the dread pooling in his stomach, Harry sat the still-crying Colin down in one of the chairs before running up the stairs to his dormitory, stealthily grabbing the Marauder's Map before creeping back down the stairs.

"Colin." He said once he reached the tearful boy, Map in hand. "I know this sounds crazy, but ... we're going to have to go to Snape."

Colin immediately opened his mouth to protest, but Harry beat him to it. "He's a potions master, so he probably knows something that can help you. He hates Umbridge, she really irritated him when inspecting his class so he won't tell her about it. The worst thing he can do to us is refuse to help."

Colin didn't look convinced. "Won't Umbridge notice if my hand is suddenly better?"

"We've been learning glamour charms in class." Harry explained, having already thought of this. "I can use one to disguise your hand."

Colin still looked hesitant, but nodded reluctantly. Harry led him to the portrait hole and climbed through before opening the Map and looking for Professor Snape. As expected, he seemed to be in his office.

Harry led the fourth-year through the corridors, using the Map to avoid patrols. After about fifteen minutes of sneaking around, they made it to the Potions classroom. Closing the door quietly behind them, Harry stuffed the Map up his sleeve so Snape wouldn't find it if he made Harry empty his pockets ... again. (There was no Remus Lupin to save his skin this time.) They made their way across the classroom to the door that led to Snape's office, still tiptoeing despite the fact that it didn't matter if Snape heard them. Harry wasn't at all surprised when Snape opened his office door before they were halfway across the classroom. The Potions professor would be the one who had some sort of alarm on his classroom door.

Surprise flickered briefly in his eyes, but it was soon consumed by anger. "Potter." He spat. "Out after curfew. Did you think it would be funny to try and hex my classroom and get away with it? Arrogant brat, just like your father-"

Harry gritted his teeth and bit back a retort, reminding himself sharply that Colin needed Snape's help. "Professor." He interrupted, once Snape's rant showed no signs of letting up. Seeing Snape's eyes flicker in rage - really, it was surprising how expressive black eyes could be - Harry didn't bother to speak further, simply grasping Colin's wrist and turning his hand so Snape could clearly see the marks.

Snape clearly wasn't willing to let go of the idea that Harry was in the wrong somehow, though, since he simply started ranting again. "So you decided to steal the potion you needed from my private stores? Have you not thought about the fact that any medicinal potions kept there also supplies the hospital wing? Your selfish and thoughtless actions could have deprived a seriously injured student of a life-saving tonic. Your father was just the same..."

Harry tuned out the rest, having a fairly good idea about what Snape thought of his father from their Occlumency lessons. He hadn't know that Snape stocked the hospital wing, but in hindsight it made sense. Those potions must be pretty complicated, and Snape is good at potions, despite not being great at teaching.

He began paying attention again when Snape stopped talking. "Sorry, Professor," He began, knowing full well that he didn't sound sorry at all but figuring he was doing quite well, considering all he wanted to do was snap at the man, "I don't actually know what potion could help Colin's hand. That's why I came to ask."

This seemed to stop Snape in his tracks, though whether that was because Harry had used a sort of respectful tone (as much of one as he ever used where Snape was concerned) or because of what he had said, Harry didn't know.

"You're still out of bed after curfew." He snapped, apparently unable to let it go. Though, he was a Slytherin, so Harry would bet that Snape was already thinking things through behind his mask of aggravation.

"Colin only returned from his detention a few minutes before curfew, and I insisted we do something about his hand as soon as possible." Harry said, neatly pinning any blame on himself.

"There is a hospital wing, Potter." Snape started to turn back to his office, robes billowing in their usual ominous way. "Stop thinking yourself above the rest of the population who get their medical care from an authorised medi-witch."

"High Inquisitor Umbridge warned Colin not to go to the hospital wing as healing would prevent the message from 'sinking in'." Harry said with distaste. "She also claimed that she would know if Colin disobeyed her and went to the hospital wing anyway."

Snape turned around to face Harry again. "You believe her?" He asked, his eyes glittering strangely.

"If he goes to the hospital wing and she does find out, she'll make him do even more lines." Harry said. A small part of his brain noted the almost-civil conversation they were having with incredulity. Oddly enough, his mind seemed to have descended it his 'battle mode', where his emotions seemed far away and the only thing that mattered was what he was trying to do. "I figured it probably wasn't worth the risk."

Snape stared at them a moment longer. Try as he might, Harry couldn't tell what was going through Snape's mind. After a moment longer, Snape abruptly spun and disappeared into his office, leaving the door open behind him. Having no desire to set foot in the hellhole where Snape 'taught' him Occlumency, he led Colin to one of the chairs and gently pushed him down, before taking a seat next to him. The fourth year seemed very subdued, though he'd finally stopped crying. Harry looked at Colin's hand and to his relief, it had stopped bleeding.

Snape strode out of his office, a jar in one hand and a thick brush, like the kind you'd use to coat a roast chicken with oil, in the other. He wordlessly opened the jar which contained some kind of paste and dipped the brush in it. He carefully applied the paste to the words carved into Colin's hand. The fourth-year didn't move or flinch at all, but a couple of new tears trailing down his face betrayed the fact that he was in pain.

"Leave that on. Let it soak in." Snape ordered tersely. "It should have sealed over by tomorrow morning. Do you have any further detentions with her?"

Colin shook his head, shoulders slumped.

"I suggest you keep it that way." Snape said. "I have no desire to rescue you from your own mistakes again." He turned to Harry. "Are there any others?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. He hadn't even considered that unpleasant possibility. "I'll find out." He could start by asking the DA, then getting them to keep an eye on the members of their House.

Snape nodded brusquely. "Do so. I will apply the paste to any others, but I will not be any more involved than that. Should Umbridge discover you, my name will not be mentioned. Is that clear?" He glared at Harry impressively. Harry nodded meekly, tension draining out of him now he'd gotten what he wanted. Harry started to stand, but was stopped by a hand yanking up his sleeve and pinning his arm to the desktop, leaving the raised red lines on the back of his hand perfectly clear in the torchlight: _I must not tell lies._

Harry stared in surprise as Snape began to apply the paste to his hand. He wasn't surprised that Snape either knew or figured out that he had been subjected to the blood quill, exactly, but he was surprised that Snape cared enough to fix his hand without prompting or his own lines even being mentioned.

Snape finished applying the paste to his hand and stood abruptly, affixing the lid onto the jar and sweeping away with both the paste and the brush. Returning from his office, he began speaking harshly. "I will tolerate you out of bed after curfew for the purpose of healing your hand, but if I catch you out of bed for any other reason, I will assign detentions and take points. Am I understood?" Both Harry and Colin nodded emphatically; Snape's voice suddenly had a dangerous edge to it, the one he used right before he detracted a lot of points and gave someone detention for a month.

Not waiting to be dismissed with more harsh words and insults, Harry and Colin quickly made their exit. Harry could have sworn that as they left, Snape's eyes had been glittering, as though with some unknown emotion.

* * *

Severus Snape slumped into his office chair after having made sure that all his privacy spells and wards were intact. He maintained his usual expressionless mask even now, simply so he would be on guard if and when the Dark Lord called him, but behind that his mind was working furiously on the events of the night and what possibilities could arise from it.

Seeing Potter standing in his classroom in the middle of the night had been a nasty shock, he had to admit, since it had taken him back to the old days when Potter Sr. and his cronies would corner him in an abandoned classroom and have un unfair fight, usually with Severus losing. Acting completely on instinct, he had verbally torn into the Potter boy. After thinking about it for a few seconds once his Occlumency kicked in, he was forced to conclude that he may have acted too much on instinct. Reprimanding the boy was justified; baselessly accusing him of intending to hex his classroom was not. Although he'd never tell Potter that.

He could only conclude (without the memory of James Potter clouding his judgement) that if Potter had willingly set foot in his domain, there must be a reason for it and it was most likely important, at least to the Potter boy. Unfortunately, thanks to his immediate and vicious insults aimed at the boy's father, Potter Jr. would start insulting him back and then refuse to tell him what was so important in the first place.

Which made it all the more surprising when Potter did nothing of the sort. When he didn't stop talking, Potter unwisely interrupted him (which still made his blood boil) then instead of insulting Severus back or even bothering to talk at all, Potter seemed to recognise that Severus wasn't going to listen to anything he said and simply showed him the reason for being in his classroom.

A cold rage filled Severus's chest as he remembered the marks left by the blood quill. If there was one thing that never failed to get under his skin, it was the torture of a child - and torture was exactly what the forced use of a blood quill was.

He wondered if Potter knew that a blood quill was a dark object. If he did, he had far more intelligence than Severus ever gave him credit for; no-one would believe anything Potter said right now, and if Potter knew what a blood quill was and hadn't said anything, then he obviously knew that.

Someday, Umbridge would go to Azkaban for her crimes; Severus would make sure of it. He hadn't only volunteered to heal the brats out of the goodness of his heart, although that was a part of it (Albus would have his head if he didn't help them). He would set up observation spells and document the damage the blood quill caused to the students to be used as evidence later.

He couldn't quite fathom why Potter was behaving differently, however. Not only had the boy actually swallowed his pride and dislike and come to him for help, the Potter brat had also completely refused to react to his insults. Normally he only had vaguely imply that Potter Sr. was anything less than a saint to get a rise out of the boy.

The only other important thing he'd noticed aside from Potter's behaviour was when he treated Potter's hand. The outside of his arm had looked unmarked, but when he'd grabbed the boy's wrist his potions maker's fingers, used to telling him if the consistency or an ingredient in a potion was correct, had noticed a thin raised line ending just above Potter's wrist. That meant the boy was hiding something under a glamour.

Severus couldn't help but wonder what everyone's darling had to hide.

* * *

Harry lay in bed, frustrated beyond belief as he stared up into the darkness, listening to the other boys snore. He still wasn't sleepy; in fact, he seemed to be even more restless than before. His thoughts just seemed to be going in circles ...

Distracted as he was, Harry failed to notice the faint threads of golden light encasing him until they reached up to cover his face. As it was he only managed one last, disjointed thought before he was covered completely.

... _feels like ... home._

* * *

She was pleased.

Things were already different. She had kept He-Who-Saved awake a little longer, and because of that He-Who-Saved had learned of Babbler's pain at the hands of Toad, and the required ingredient had been obtained. She had spent a little more time gathering energy to be prepared, before beginning the transfer once He-Who-Saved was in bed where Others wouldn't see.

The Toad would leave soon. He-Who-Saved would make sure of it. And to make sure He-Who-Saved would be able to make Toad leave, she would give him something ...

* * *

 **So, this is the first chapter of the re-write of Headmaster Harry Potter. Because it is a re-write, Harry will again be Headmaster, but this one is set sometime before the D.A disaster in April. I'm thinking middle of March.**

 **However, my story is an AU, so Umbridge became Acting Headmistress in either January or February while Dumbledore was investigated by the Ministry. Like with Trelawney, Dumbledore couldn't be forced from the grounds until the investigation was completed and Umbridge officially appointed. Unofficially the investigation was completed ages ago and Dumbledore found fit to continue as Headmaster, but the Ministry are dragging things out for as long as possible to give Umbridge more time to 'discover' something incriminating.**

 **Updates on this? Not going to be regular. Sorry, but ... it's _hard_ to write.**

 **Enjoy, Shib. :)**


	2. Chapter 2 - A Gift Of Experience

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

 **Chapter 2 - A Gift Of Experience**

Harry opened his eyes blearily, feeling as though a heavy weight had been placed on his head. Then his eyes came into focus as he grabbed his glasses and he saw his bed in the Gryffindor dormitory, and the last couple decades rushed back to him. He groaned and threw his hands over his head.

He'd been dying, hadn't he? He'd thought it was finally over and that he could see Ginny and the kids and everyone else again, when he'd been coated in a fine golden light and a warm presence that was definitely Hogwarts, even if she felt much younger. Then he'd felt her trying to talk with him and on instinct after years of being the Headmaster of Hogwarts, (even if it was no longer just a school) he'd opened himself up and felt the unmistakable sensation of his magic, mind and soul being ripped out of his body, accompanied by the distinct sensation of travelling _backwards._

That was about when he'd connected the dots, and he didn't like what he saw at all. Not even a little bit. A Hogwarts who felt younger. His mind, magic and soul. Going backwards. The fact that it was him this was happening to, and god knows his life was strange.

He had tried to strike out, but Hogwarts held him firmly. _Boy-Who-Saved,_ she said, and Harry had groaned. He'd originally managed to make her stop that, but it had taken a lot of lectures. _What are you doing, Hogwarts?_ He'd sent, too irritated by the childlike entity to be polite.

 _Boy-Who-Saved,_ she sent again. _Save._

A stream of information entered Harry's mind as she showed him what was wrong. Umbridge and her little decrees, Colin Creevey's detention, her manipulating fifteen-year-old Harry to find out about Colin's detention. The drop of Colin's blood that hit the floor as a result.

Harry had groaned. _The blood of a student who did nothing to deserve his punishment granted you the right to chose a new headmaster, as stated by the old blood protections Salazar Slytherin placed on the school, with stipulations in place ensuring that if the best candidate for Headmaster was too inexperienced, the school could pull an older version back at the moment of their death. Yippee. Bloody evil git, ruining other people's deaths'. Who does that anyway?_

Hogwarts smothered him in a wave of childish delight, and he'd sighed. Only a few seconds later, it had felt like he was being pummelled on every inch of his body and there was an uncomfortable squeezing sensation, before he passed out.

{At least I know what all of Voldie's anchors are,} he consoled himself. {It shouldn't be too hard to kill him ... although unless the Eldar wand disaster happens again, I will actually have to kill him. And I'm going to have to die again. Bugger ... does the blood protection still work when I'm mentally over seventeen but physically under it?}

Mentally shelving all the inconvenient questions to be dealt with later, he closed his eyes and sank into the wards of Hogwarts, which he now noted were once again tied to him.

To his experienced senses, the wards of Hogwarts were, to put it lightly, a mess. There was a lot of disturbance in the Headmaster's office, where Harry could tell (to his growing rage) that Umbridge repeatedly tried to grant herself the position of Headmaster by forcing the wards to tie to her, causing massive disturbances to the defence of the school. Practically burning with anger, Harry carefully smoothed out and fixed the net of defences in that area before permanently locking Umbridge out of the office so she could make no further attempts. Then he mentally took a step back, and reviewed the wards as a whole.

Apparently his first diagnosis of 'everything's a mess', was a massive understatement. The fear and anger in the school was palpable, and the wards were shaking and crumbling. Great holes had begun to form, leaving massive gaps in their defence. Harry saw with dismay that it would take ages to fix everything. Maybe a week, if he attended to the wards all day every day, but he still had to attend classes if he was going to keep up the illusion that everything was normal.

{And what's worse,} Harry thought with dismay, {is that while the school is vulnerable now, it's going to be even more so while I'm fixing the wards. I'm going to have to get everyone out of the school for a week or two ... and I have to get Umbridge out of the school permanently. No-one will believe anything I say right now, so I'll have to think of another way to do everything so Fudge thinks that the orders aren't coming from me.}

He turned over the problem in his mind as he almost absently started tweaking the wards, pulling them into a position where they would hold up better until he could sort out the wards properly. An idea occurred to him regarding getting Umbridge out of the school, so he sent a message to Hogwarts, communicating for a few minutes while he explained the rapidly-forming plan. She quickly agreed, and Harry pulled himself out of the mental state required to talk to Hogwarts. Mentally cackling madly, he opened his eyes, pulling himself up with a groan and stumbled out of bed.

By the looks of the sky outside, it was just about dawn. Harry yawned as he pulled on his uniform, stopping for only a brief moment to look at the faces of his dorm mates so he wouldn't be taken by surprise at how young they were later. Stumbling down the stairs, he wasn't at all surprised to see the common room deserted. He climbed out of the portrait hole, Violet not even stirring from her sleep, and made his way to the Great Hall. Breakfast wouldn't start to appear for another half an hour or so, but Harry could use the time to think everything through. He also needed to make a list of everything he needed to do. {Although I should probably write it in some form of code or shorthand.} He mused. {I really don't want to know what Umbridge would do if she found out I'd travelled in time.}

Reaching the Great Hall, he sat himself down at the Gryffindor table and pulled parchment, quill and ink out of his bag. He wrote the word list at the top, then paused to think. {What do I need to do?} He thought to himself. {Well, fixing the wards are at the top of my list, and getting rid of Umbridge is only just below that. I can kill two birds with one stone and do them both at the same time, fortunately. Now I have a plan, Umbridge should be at least questioned by the end of today.} He couldn't stop his smirk at the thought. He dipped his quill in the ink and carefully wrote, 'Deal with amphibian infestation, read Slinkhard's book on Defence.'

{Neville has a toad so I can always claim it has something to do with that.} Harry thought, satisfied. {And the reference to Umbridge's assigned book for defence will remind me of the wards.}

After a moment of thought, he also added 'self study DADA' and 'go treasure hunting', meaning find a new DADA teacher to replace Umbridge and deal with the less guarded Horcruxes. He also added 'visit historical sites' for going to the chamber to get basilisk fangs so he could destroy the Horcruxes without using fiendfyre. Or maybe just use the sword of Gryffindor, thinking about it, but he should go to the Chamber anyway, since if he remembered rightly, there was a few interesting manuscripts down there that he could read. {I never did get to finish reading them all before Hogwarts was destroyed} Harry thought nostalgically, a pang of sadness in his heart. He'd always missed his home, but with everything else he'd lost, there hadn't been a chance to mourn it properly.

{I also need to get into physical shape.} He remembered suddenly. {Doing chores at the Dursleys might give me a layer of muscle I wouldn't have otherwise, but the starvation does nothing for my endurance.} He thought of the times where his life had depended on running really fast, and wrote 'get fresh air' on his list.

"Hello, Harry." A voice startled Harry out of his list-writing, and he looked up and met Dumbledore's eyes.

{That's odd.} Harry thought, puzzled. {Isn't he ignoring me right now?}

Apparently not, because he was still standing there, patiently waiting for Harry to reply. "Good morning, Professor?" He said, and even to his ears he sounded bemused.

"You're up early." Dumbledore stated, sitting down on the bench opposite Harry. "And making a list, I see. Though I find myself at a loss as to why you would want to read that particular book." He reached out and tapped the words 'read Slinkhard's book for defence'.

Harry snickered; he couldn't help it. The old man was right, the book was a load of tosh. "I know." He said, still laughing. "It's more of a reminder to make sure I understand the subject than anything, though." {He'll immediately think that I mean studying defence independently, thankfully; I'd have a hell of a time explaining how I knew that the wards were failing and why I thought I could fix it.} Harry thought, watching as Dumbledore's eyes began to twinkle madly. {Yep, he thinks I'm talking about the D.A.} Harry could only find the whole thing amusing. Talking without actually saying anything was an art he'd mastered, and he actually became quite fond of implying a lot in an ordinary conversation that went over most people's heads.

"Is anyone else going to the same lengths as you to ensure they understand defence?" Dumbledore asked, clearly pleased for some reason that Harry was continuing to study defence properly in his own time.

"Yeah, I know of quite a few others who've been careful to keep up with everything." Harry said, thinking of the DA. "Not just Gryffindor, either. Both Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff have a few people who want to make sure they understand the coursework properly." Harry paused for a moment before deciding that it would be odd for a Gryffindor to approach a subject tactfully rather than just asking straight out. "Sir, why are you talking to me? No offence, but you've been avoiding me the whole year."

The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes dimmed, and he sighed heavily. "The situation is complicated, Harry, and I haven't given you my reasons because I fear who might find out. Not," He added hastily, "that I think you would tell anyone if I ask for your discretion, but such things are not always a matter of choice."

"Because of Legilimency." Harry said with certainty.

"Yes, but not only that." Dumbledore said sadly. "I will explain everything to you, and soon, Harry. Suffice to say that the situation has changed and it is now feasible to tell you things I could not risk before."

Harry nodded and looked back down at the table, though he was still puzzled. {How did Dumbledore know that something had changed?} He wondered.

"Well, it appears that breakfast has begun." Dumbledore said merrily, standing up from the bench and winking at Harry conspiratorially. "I wish you luck in your endeavours to properly understand William Slinkhard's book." Without much more delay, Dumbledore swept up to the staff table. Harry absentmindedly poured himself a cup of black coffee from the pot that had just appeared as he watched Dumbledore go.

{What did the old man want?} Harry thought. {He could have been curious about the list ... but he would have only seen the list after he got close, and he wouldn't do that unless he intended to talk to me.} He chewed on his bottom lip as he turned the conversation over, looking for an angle. {Nothing that he brought up while we were talking was important enough for him to approach me about after not talking to me, so ... what? He learned something just by talking to me?} Briefly considering Legilimency, Harry wondered if the old man had peered into his head, but discounted the possibility; he had never mastered Occlumency, but he could tell when other people were messing about with his thoughts. Sighing, he blew on his coffee before taking a sip. {Dumbledore said he'd explain it soon. It'll probably become clear then.}

His attention was suddenly drawn to the entrance of the Great Hall as Umbridge stormed in. Her face was red with rage and her hair in disarray. Harry smirked. {Umbridge must have already discovered that the Headmaster's office is closed to her. I doubt much else would get her in such a state.}

"Dumbledore!" She screeched, and any of the handful of students who hadn't already been watching her were paying attention to what was happening now. "What did you do!?"

"I'm afraid I'm unaware of what events you speak of, Delores." He said calmly. It was the wrong thing to say.

"Unaware!?" She yelled. "My office guardian won't let me through! It ignores everything I say! It's barred me, and it's been barred by the wards of Hogwarts. Wards that currently no-one is managing due to the ongoing Ministry investigation, but I wonder; the wards have been in your hands for years, so would they help you when you aren't tied to them!?" She was yelling by the time she finished talking, and she stood still for a moment, breathing heavily.

Harry decided that he'd put a stop to this now, before the rumours could travel too far; this wasn't exactly how he'd planned to tick off the first two items on his list, but if he was honest, then he couldn't have asked for a better opening.

Time to put on a show.

* * *

Dumbledore was sat happily at the head table, drinking his favourite lemon tea. His conversation with Harry had given him a fair amount to think about, probably more than the boy realised. He was happy to discover that Harry had not taken Umbridge's teaching lying down. He was at least studying on his own, and if his comment about students in other houses doing the same meant anything, then Dumbledore would bet that the group that Harry had started in the Hogs Head that day had worked. He was glad to be certain; Mundungus had reported what he heard, but Dumbledore had no way of knowing if the group was a success, since he'd never been able to find the meeting place. The portraits he'd asked to follow them had only gone so far before become confused. Wherever they met, it was under powerful protections.

The other thing he'd learned was that Harry definitely wasn't suffering effects from being connected to Voldemort any more. The anger Harry had been prone to was actually Voldemort's (at least in part) and to Dumbledore's limited ability to see auras, it had looked like a shadow had fallen over the boy. When Dumbledore had entered the Great Hall this morning to see Harry awake unusually early and then seen that the shadow was gone, he couldn't help but investigate. When he had an entire conversation with the boy and Harry had shown no signs of being effected by the recently-resurrected Voldemort, Dumbledore had come to the conclusion that for some reason, Voldemort had withdrawn from Harry's mind completely. The only question was why, and unfortunately it was a question Dumbledore couldn't answer.

Just then Dumbledore's attention was drawn to the doors as Umbridge stormed in. She was livid, and she focused on him as if whatever had made her so angry was his fault. {I don't think I've done anything to aggravate her.} Dumbledore thought, quickly thinking back over the last few days. {What could she possibly blame me for?}

At that moment movement at the Gryffindor table caught Dumbledore's eye and he watched sharply as Harry turned his head away from Umbridge as though he didn't want her seeing his expression. Dumbledore watched, more than a little dumbfounded, as a smirk spread across Harry's face. Looking back at Umbridge, Dumbledore had the sneaking suspicion that Harry knew why she was so angry.

"Dumbledore!" She screeched, and Dumbledore resisted the urge to close his eyes and sigh. He hoped that he wouldn't get blamed for whatever Harry had orchestrated, but somehow he doubted that Umbridge would be yelling at him if she knew he had nothing to do with it. "What did you do?"

"I'm afraid I'm unaware of what events you speak of Delores." He said calmly, hoping futilely that she would be reasonable.

"Unaware!? My office guardian won't let me through! It ignores everything I say! It's barred me, and it's been barred by the wards of Hogwarts. Wards that currently no-one is managing due to the ongoing Ministry investigation, but I wonder; the wards have been in your hands for years, so would they help you when you aren't tied to them!?" Dumbledore didn't outwardly react, but he watched from the corner of his eye as Harry straightened and took on a determined look. {Oh, Harry.} Dumbledore thought sadly. {Don't do anything stupid like taking the blame please, I do not know if I will be able to bail you out ... though I would like to know how you managed to lock Umbridge out of her office.}

"I assure you I've done nothing of the sort." He said finally. He knew that the twinkle in his eyes had gone out; these accusations could hard to get out of, not least because it was near impossible to prove one way or the other.

"Ha! I believe we'll see what Cornelius has to say about that." She said triumphantly, before turning around and marching down towards the doors. Dumbledore watched her walk, mind going through possibilities at a rapid pace, before suddenly grinding to a halt. He gaped at the unusual happening in front of him.

Umbridge, completely unaware of the strange events taking place behind her and the sudden deafening silence in the hall, turn as she finally reached the doors. "You won't be in this school for much longer, Dumb-!" She stopped in midsentence as she finally noticed what was causing everyone else to be so quiet.

In front of the Headmaster's seat before the teacher's table, a glowing vortex of gold energy was growing. Dumbledore glanced sharply at Harry. The boy was sat not far from what Dumbledore had surmised was the manifestation of the wards, and an invisible wind was ruffling his hair. With his emerald eyes reflecting the golden light, it almost looked like Harry was the one causing it, but Dumbledore knew that wasn't so. It would take years of practice to become that skilled at ward manipulation. {Still,} He mused, {Harry knew that Umbridge would be locked out of her office, and I bet he knew that this would happen too. But how? He can't be causing it.}

The golden light seemed to waver for a moment, like a heat mirage, before the Sorting Hat appeared in the center of the maelstrom with an audible pop. Everyone stared in disbelief for a moment, before the Hat twitched. Then the rip near the brim opened wide in the imitation of a human mouth, and the Hat began to speak.

"Alastair has kindly given me permission to use his voice to address the problems that have arisen." The Hat spoke, but instead of issuing the usual male sound, the speaker seemed to be female, albeit with a rough, almost stone-like voice.

"Alastair?" Flitwick squeaked, having arrived at some point during Umbridge's outburst. At some point a gossip-inclined student must have slipped out and told other students, because that was when a crowd descended onto the Great Hall, led by McGonagall and Snape.

"I believe you refer to him as the Sorting Hat." The voice said kindly. "Now, as I was saying, I intend to address the issues within the school-"

Umbridge's eyes narrowed in indignation. "Hem hem." She interrupted in a mockery of politeness. "Issues within the school? Since the Ministry has stepped in to regulate the subjects and material taught here, the school's safety and security is ensured-"

"Safety and security?" The words sounded like blocks grinding together, and the gold energy swirled, suddenly seeming a lot more threatening. "You torture your students by forcing them to write lines with a blood quill in detention! You persecute students for their stance against the Ministry, such as Harry Potter! Instead of hearing his claims rationally, you deny that such a thing could by true and risk your lives by doing so. You are pressuring Marietta Edgecomb to give you information on possible illegal groups within the student body and threatening to fire her mother if she does not give you what you want! You place your own lust for power over the welfare of the students you agreed to protect!" The voice paused and seemed to visibly calm herself down before continuing. "Delores Umbridge, in the name of Hogwarts, I remove you from the position of High Inquisitor."

Loud, metal steps came from outside and two suits of armour marched in. "You will be escorted to the dungeons where you will be confined until the proper authorities can question you regarding your abuse of power, take statements from the involved students and seize any of your belongings that are needed to serve as evidence. I have sealed your classroom, office and personal quarters to prevent any questions regarding tampering."

The suits of armour reached out jerkily and took hold of Umbridge's arms. She tried to jerk away from them but they held firm. "On whose authority? How can you possibly order this? You don't have the right!" She kicked her feet as the metal suits started to drag her from the hall.

"I have every right." This was not said arrogantly; simply a statement of fact. "I am Hogwarts, and you granted me the right to interfere when a drop of innocent blood hit my stone; as of then, my word here is law for I am an impartial judge, and I act in the best interests of the students alone, my decisions not marred by the selfishness and greed of humans."

Everyone present seemed to be in a daze, Dumbledore included. {Hogwarts must be referring to the blood protections that Salazar left.} He thought disjointedly. {That would be why blood activated them.} Then he recalled what Hogwarts had said about Umbridge's use of a blood quill, and fury ripped through him. He quickly tamped down on it with Occlumency, but he knew that his magic would still be heavy in the air.

"Deputy Headmistress McGonagall, would you please send an owl to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and request a few Aurors investigate Madam Umbridge?" The Hat asked. McGonagall nodded briskly in acceptance and strode off, students hastily moving out of her way.

"I have one other announcement to make." The Hat drew everyone's attention back to it rather than the departing Transfiguration Professor. "Due to the damage inflicted on the school by Acting Headmistress Umbridge," Dumbledore couldn't help but admire the amount of venom Hogwarts managed to inject into that one sentence; for a castle talking through an expressionless hat, it was quite an achievement. "I will be closing the school for two weeks to ensure that the school is up to safety standards. No-one can remain in the castle during this time, either student or teacher. The train will be departing in three days, to give the Aurors all the time they need to collect evidence. The train will return to Hogwarts on the first of April, eleven o'clock sharp, from platform nine and three quarters."

Cheering broke out across the hall, but Dumbledore closed his eyes tiredly. His suspicions were correct, then. The atmosphere in the school and Umbridge's attempts to force the wards had harmed the defence of the school; apparently to the point where Hogwarts felt it necessary to shut down for two weeks to repair the damage.

When the cheering died down, Hogwarts spoke again. "I will also be burning the educational decrees. As of now, each and every single one of them are ineffective." While the students were still yelling about that latest development, the Hat swivelled towards Dumbledore. He moved to stand next to the Hat, casting a few spells to block out sound and prevent eavesdropping as he did so. "What do you know about the protections Salazar Slytherin left on the school?" Hogwarts asked without preamble.

"Only that they always act in the best interests of all the students. I couldn't gather any more information from the wards, although I did learn that the full account of the blood protections and what they do is held in the Chamber of Secrets." Dumbledore said, sorting through his massive storehouse of knowledge.

"The blood protections first remove any threat to the welfare of the school, then find the person best able to protect Hogwarts and offer them the position of Headmaster." Hogwarts said.

Dumbledore understood then where she was going with this. "You don't mean me." He felt sad at the realisation, but he wasn't altogether surprised. He'd made some bad decisions. He'd been leading the school for years; he had to let someone else take over eventually.

"No, I do not." Hogwarts said, the Hat she was speaking through somehow taking a downcast appearance. "He has ... potential, magically speaking, and he would defend Hogwarts to his last breath. Aside from that ... you have obligations to others outside these walls, other people to save. You cannot devote all your time to this school when there are others that need your help."

Dumbledore nodded. "I understand." He looked out over the still-cheering students and smiled softly. "I hope I can spare them some worry by decreasing the fear that Voldemort will kill their families." He cleared his throat and blinked away the water in his eyes as he turned back towards the Hat. "Why are you telling me this, if I may ask?"

"It seems a little rude to kick you out with no prior warning." Hogwarts said warmly. "And though I know it is rude to ask, I must say: Do you intend to oppose the appointment of your successor? With your reputation, you could do a lot of damage."

Dumbledore laughed softly. "Why would I do that? You're an impartial judge, and will chose for the good of the school, and the students."

"Thank you." The Hat turned again towards the students. "I don't think you'll mind who I've chosen, though. From what I've heard, learning how to lead will be good for him."

Dumbledore glanced at the Hat sideways. "If I may ask, who have you chosen? Magical potential is good, but power isn't everything."

"I'm not speaking of sheer power, but a gift ... it's currently dormant, though it should activate as he goes through magical maturation. And I have chosen Harry Potter, of course."

Dumbledore's eyes sought out Harry, and he smiled ruefully. "Of course." He agreed. {Everything does seem to happen to him.} "I had hoped he could have a childhood a while longer, though."

The Hat seemed to shake sadly. "I'm afraid that Harry has never really been a child."

The two stayed in silence for a moment longer, before the twinkle returned to Dumbledore's eyes and he chuckled. "You know, you might have set Harry up with rather the impossible task there." He said conversationally. "He might have quite a lot of trouble working with Severus."

"Oh, I don't know about that." Hogwarts sad gleefully. "You should ask Severus about the almost-civil conversation he and Potter had last night."

Dumbledore cast a speculative glance towards the Potions Professor, who seemed to feel his gaze and scowled in his direction. "Is that so ..." Dumbledore dissolved the privacy wards with a wave of his wand and strode off. Harry chuckled through the Hat at the hunted look that suddenly appeared on Snape's face as he spotted Dumbledore's approach.

{That went quite well.} Harry thought as he returned the Hat to the Headmaster's office in a golden wave of energy before allowing his grip on the wards to fade. It had been tiring to manipulate the wards constantly like that, but well worth the effect it caused.

{I'm glad I made it a two-week break rather than just the one.} He thought, stifling a yawn. {I haven't gone through magical maturation yet so my power levels are a little down. Fixing the wards is going to take a little longer than normal.}

* * *

 **So this is the second chapter of the re-write. Be happy I got it out this quickly, because it was hell to write.**

 **Enjoy, Shib. :)**


	3. Chapter 3 - An Apology Made

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

 **Chapter 3 - An Apology Made**

The next few days were beyond hectic, not just for Harry but the entire school. Aurors were constantly in and out of classes, pulling students out so they could be asked questions about Umbridge. Harry was pulled out more than the others and photographs were taken of the scars on his hand for the purpose of evidence.

It turned out that Umbridge had been using the blood quill on others; more than a few others, in fact. Usually her targets were Muggle raised children who more than likely wouldn't know that the blood quill was a dark object, and all of her victims had at one point flouted her authority. The ones who openly defended Harry received particularly vicious punishments, but no-one had received more lines than Harry.

On the last day before the train left for Kings Cross, experts from St. Mungos were called in to try to remove the scars, and for the children who had only had one or two detentions, they succeeded. When it came to Harry, Colin and a few others, however, the Healer could only cast a few diagnostic spells before apologising profusely.

"It isn't just a scar, you see." He'd explained regretfully. "It's made with a dark object and leaves traces of dark magic behind. Even if you somehow removed all the skin on the back of your hand the scar would still be there once your skin grew back." Harry had only smiled politely and nodded; he'd long ago come to terms with the fact that Umbridge's damage could never be undone.

He'd taken Harry aside after his examination. "If there's ever anything you need," he promised, "Just let me know. I'll try to convince my colleagues that you're right about You-Know-Who, as well. I wasn't sure what to believe before, with the Ministry denying everything, but now, well ..." He trailed off nervously.

"Thanks, Healer." Harry said uncomfortably. "Just ... don't convince anyone too loudly."

The Healer seemed to catch Harry's meaning, as he paled but still nodded determinedly.

On the train ride back from school, Harry reflected on how different things had been for the last three days.

He kept on being tripped up by how different things were here - or rather now - and being caught by surprise when things weren't the same as he was used to. It was as if he'd suddenly travelled to another country and things were similar enough to where he'd been for him to be surprised every time a difference came up. He found himself growing increasingly nostalgic as it began to sink in that everything he'd lost was still here.

Other than that, life seemed normal, like a half-remembered dream where everything was familiar. When he wasn't being startled by the changes that decades had brought, he almost felt like most of his life had never happened.

Almost. His nightmares had not diminished, and once his pulse had slowed he'd been quite thankful that years of experience had resulted in him placing silencing charms around his bed on autopilot. Explaining that to his roommates would have been awkward.

Harry let his head thump gently against the train window. There was so much he had to do; two major wars to prevent, both of which had several contributing factors that he needed to put a stop to. Voldemort wouldn't be impossible to deal with; Harry had done it before, albeit with a hell of a lot of luck. The second war ... well. He'd lost that one. Harry could only be glad he had so long to figure out a way to ensure it never happened.

{At least I'll have plenty of free time to plan undisturbed at the Dursleys' house.} He thought gloomily. Dumbledore had taken him inside before they left and told him that his uncle would be there to pick him up at the station, since the Order couldn't arrange a better safe house in time. Knowing that he'd probably need the blood protection to survive not being a horcrux, he'd only bothered to ask if he had to go there once before giving in and agreeing. He could still use Sirius to threaten his relatives into leaving him alone, after all.

Harry was pulled out of his thoughts as the door opened, and did a double take as he saw Draco Malfoy flanked by Crabbe and Goyle rather than any of his friends. Wasn't it rather early for the Malfoy heir to make his once-a-train-ride appearance?

"Potter." The boy spat, and Harry was abruptly reminded of how much an arse his once-nearly-friend used to be. "Have Weasel and Grunge got tired of you already, or did they just have better things to do than hang out with a loser like you?"

"They had better things to do." Harry said cheerfully without batting a eyelash. It took all of his self control not to laugh Malfoy's look of surprise. The blond Slytherin opened his mouth to speak, but Harry cut him off. "I believe Ron's brothers called an emergency family meeting which I elected not to attend, and Hermione is helping a couple first-years with something or other."

Malfoy scoffed, and Harry inwardly sighed. If he wanted to have any peace whatsoever as Headmaster, he would have to win over the Slytherins, which meant at least calling a truce with Malfoy. Malfoy was a pureblood, though, and they had their own rules. Harry, unfortunately, never found time to learn more than the basics. Still ... he knew enough to realise that refusing to shake Malfoy's hand in first year had been a grave mistake, and if he wanted any kind of truce, he'd have to make the first move.

"Admitting you're useless already, Potter? I'd thought you'd have to fail your NEWTs before your own stupidity would have sunk in properly." Malfoy laughed, an ugly sawing sound. Crabbe and Goyle echoed him like the sidekicks they were.

Harry stood and faced Malfoy, ignoring the satisfaction on Malfoy's face as he thought he'd succeeded in baiting Harry into a fight.

"Draco Malfoy." Harry stated quietly and formally. Seriousness settled into Malfoy's features as he realised that a Pureblood formal recognition rite was being used. "I was raised by Muggles with no knowledge of my heritage until I read my letter on my eleventh birthday. Even when I learned of the magical world, I was not told that the Pureblood customs were important or even that there were Pureblood customs, and I only discovered my mistake recently. For my slight to you when I refused to shake your hand, I apologise and hope that the recompense you have the right to demand will be enough to right things between the House of Malfoy and the House of Potter."

The Malfoy heir looked progressively more shocked as Harry continued to speak. Whatever he'd expected Harry to say, it wasn't an apology. After a few seconds he snapped his mouth closed, looking at Harry oddly. Nevertheless, he spoke the ritual words in reply. "The House of Malfoy takes note of your formal apology and considers your position. You will be contacted within three days regarding your apology. A truce is called between the Houses of Malfoy and Potter until either the House of Potter is officially notified or the three days has passed without notification." After one last considering look, the Malfoy heir spun on his heel and exited the compartment, Crabbe and Goyle following dutifully behind.

Harry slumped back onto his seat, grateful that he didn't have to deal with Malfoy any more but aware in the back of his mind that he was going to have to deal with Malfoy Sr. as the Lord of the House of Malfoy at some point for his apology to be either accepted or declined. Not to mention that Harry had a Lordship to claim and Malfoy was on the Wizengamot as well.

Harry sighed and rubbed his hand over his head as he thought about his Lordship; it was supposed to be impossible for him to even know about it, thanks to Dumbledore's decision to place him with the Dursleys. The secret of Lordships was guarded by complicated secrecy magic; only the families that had a Lordship knew exactly which other families had lordships, and they were incapable of writing or communicating that knowledge to anyone. They could speak the knowledge, but only to a member or ward of that House and even then, they had to be under heavy protections to prevent eavesdroppers. The only reason Sirius had been able to tell Harry that the Black family was an Ancient and Noble House was because Harry was legally his heir and he didn't mention the Lordship that came with the title.

In short, Dumbledore's actions had neatly ensured that Harry wouldn't be able to learn about his titles until after his seventeenth birthday when he would be taken to the inheritance office during his next visit to Gringotts and informed of his responsibilities. Or at least, barring time-travel that's what would have happened. As it was, Harry knew everything he needed to know. Knowing that he wasn't the ward of a Pureblood house, the goblins would take his knowledge of his lordship as proof of his age, and since they were goblins, they wouldn't care about the time-travel. A few galleons passing hands would keep them from mentioning anything to someone else.

{Not that I can do much with my Lordship anyway, since no-one can know without my secret being spilt, and I don't fancy being locked up by the Ministry.} Harry thought sourly. {Still, being a lord grants me a few rights that would be handy in a pinch, and no-one will know until I announce myself to the Wizengamot.}

The compartment door opened again to reveal Hermione. Pulling the door shut behind her, the cleverest of the Trio sat with a huff, blowing the hair out of her face.

"Problem?" Harry asked, unable to stop a fond smile from spreading across his face at the girl's ire. He'd missed his friend a lot in the years since her death, and seeing her so young and full of optimism never failed to warm his heart. They had all missed the way they used to be, before everything had gone to hell. How innocent and happy they had been.

Well. Mostly happy, when Voldemort wasn't in the immediate vicinity and he wasn't at the Dursleys'. Certainly he was happier during his Hogwarts years (barring his seventh year) and the first half of his adult life. After that ... not so much. Another war, and all that.

"It's nothing, just the Slytherins and their usual insults." Hermione dismissed. "Its weird though, they started up with their usual tirade about how superior they are, when Malfoy walked by. He just shook his head a little and walked off, and they followed him."

"Ah." Harry said. "Yeah, that's probably my fault."

"Don't be silly, Harry, how is that your fault?" Hermione said dismissively. Harry internally winced; dismissing what he said like that was a habit she'd grown out of, and he couldn't say he'd missed it.

"I called a truce with Malfoy." He said bluntly. Hermione gaped at him. "Harry, what? You called a truce with Malfoy!?"

"Let me explain, ok? I was looking for more on Purebloods, since the Potters are traditionally a pureblood family and I didn't really know what it meant, and I found this book that went on and on about Pureblood traditions. It turns out that Purebloods are held to really strict social standards, and to failure to meet some of those standards can be a really big insult. Do you remember how Malfoy held out his hand to shake in first year?" Harry gave his pre-prepared excuse.

Hermione sat up in realisation. "Oh, Harry, you didn't."

Harry nodded. "So I offered a formal apology. He'll let me know in three days time where the House of Potter stands with the House of Malfoy. Until then, we have a truce. I guess the House of Malfoy has some influence on all the Slytherins, and you're my friend so you must be off-limits as well."

"It's good that you're doing something about this, Harry, but ..." She hesitated, and Harry thought he saw where this might be going. "He still tried to do some horrible things."

"I'm not saying that everything he's done is alright because I insulted him first." Harry said firmly. "It's just ... understandable, from a certain perspective, that he hates me so much. That doesn't make his actions any less cruel and childish." Harry scratched the back of his head in embarrassment, thinking of the bathroom incident in his sixth year. "Or mine, for that matter."

Hermione's eyes softened, and she reached over and grabbed his hand in comfort. "At least you realise that you were wrong ... things will be different now, won't they?" Harry looked out of the window to the land sliding past.

"I have a feeling that things will be very different, Hermione." Harry smiled.

* * *

Draco made his way to the Slytherin compartment, face set in his usual arrogant mask. Inside, however, he felt as though the foundations of his world had been shaken. His years at Hogwarts were all underlaid by the bitter anger he felt towards Harry Potter, marred by the spiteful actions he took to hurt the other boy for hurting him. He'd wanted to be Harry's friend, once (wanted to be the Boy-Who-Lived's friend, something inside him whispered) he'd actually been trying to help when he offered to introduce Harry to the right sort.

It had taken him a long time to realise that all the stories about the Boy-Who-Lived were just stories, and even longer to work out that Harry Potter had no idea that he'd offended Draco by refusing to shake the Malfoy heir's hand. Nevertheless, Draco's pride and sense of propriety would not allow him to approach Harry and ask for a second chance - not least because the Gryffindor would never accept his explanation, having no understanding of how serious an offence he'd committed and no reason to trust Draco. Not to mention his friendship with Weasel, who would never be reasonable about any Malfoy.

His knowledge of Harry Potter had seemingly been complete - Muggle-raised, no knowledge of Pureblood traditions, rash as any Gryffindor, and a black and white view of the world, prejudiced against Slytherins like almost everyone else. Over the years Draco had seen glimmers of something else - something Slytherin - in the other boy. Come what may - including the media and most of the school turning on him - Harry Potter survived.

Then the idiot Gryffindor had to throw off everything Draco thought he knew by doing something completely unexpected. Even if Potter had found out about the traditions, Draco wouldn't have pegged the Boy-Who-Lived as one to just apologise after all the stunts he'd pulled; Buckbeak the Hippogryff sprug to mind.

Reaching his usual compartment, he opened the door and slumped down in the window seat, ignoring Daphne and Blaise, both of whom had looked up with a raised eyebrow as he stormed in. Behind him the others filed in; Pansy, Nott, Davis, Moon and Bulstrode. With a glance and a miniscule shake of his head, Crabbe and Goyle slipped off.

None of the others spoke, waiting for Draco to fill them in. They knew that something important had happened, and that it didn't involve a Slytherin; if Draco had been hurt by someone, they'd do something about it, no matter how small. Slytherin house looked after its own.

"A formal apology was issued to the House of Malfoy." Draco said distantly, aimed at no-one in particular. Pansy seemed disinterested, but Blaise and Daphne exchanged a look and Nott's eyes sharpened. Bulstrode and Moon were holding a whispered conversation, but Draco knew they were still listening.

"From which House?" Blaise asked. He sounded bored, but Draco didn't miss the interest in his gaze or the way everyone leaned forward a little. Well, almost everyone. Pansy was never the brightest of the bunch.

"Potter." Draco said the name with no inflection at all. Bulstrode and Moon's whispered conversation paused for an instant before picking up again, and the others in the compartment showed similar signs of surprise. Pansy frowned unhappily, slouching back into his seat. "Raised by Muggles, unaware of Pureblood traditions until recently, apparently."

"What are you likely to do?" Nott asked, fingers tapping out a rhythm on his knee.

Draco internally shuddered; Nott wasn't quite as much in Draco's pocket as Draco might like, and the Malfoy heir knew anything he said would be taken back to Nott's father and by extension the Death Eaters. Draco knew that he was going to have to join - that he didn't really have any other choice - but that didn't mean he liked the prospect. His father had told him of the way Death Eaters squabbled to get closer to their lord, and he knew that anything he said could be misinterpreted by the Notts to make his father look incompetent.

The Dark Lord did not suffer incompetency.

"Out of my hands." Draco murmured. "My father will decide."

The conversation moved onto other topics as it became clear that no more was going to be said on the subject. The rest of the ride passed on a more light-hearted note, but Draco knew that no-one had forgotten what he had said. No doubt they were all trying to predict how Potter's unexpected actions would change the looming war to come. If they even could; almost five years of school with the Potter heir had taught Draco that the other boy was only human.

* * *

Harry got about as much welcome from the Dursleys as he expected; that was to say, none at all.

Thankfully Dudley was still at Smeltings since they hadn't had an unscheduled holiday, meaning the giant bully didn't have two weeks to kill by beating up his cousin. Harry's Aunt and Uncle, however, were less than pleased by their relatives unexpected and unwelcome presence in their home. At least, that was what Harry gathered from his Uncle's red face and what the whale of a man muttered under his breath.

Honestly, Harry had almost forgotten how unpleasant his relatives could be. Sure, he remembered the cupboard and all the times he'd gone hungry with vivid clarity, not to mention the occasional beating (thankfully Vernon seemed to consider punching him too close to exercise to bother with on a regular basis) but that wasn't his relatives, just what they did to him.

He'd forgotten the way he used to be able to judge how angry Uncle Vernon was by the shade of red his face was sporting, and the way the man used to mutter into his beard whenever he wanted to rant about something but wasn't sure that he was somewhere private enough for it to be considered 'normal'. He'd forgotten the way Aunt Petunia's left eye twitched whenever she was reminded that Harry actually existed, and the way she always cast Harry a spiteful glance out of the corner of her eye whenever she gave Dudley something he wanted, as though Harry being jealous of his pig of a cousin would make her feel better. Harry had forgotten how just being close to his relatives was enough for him to start feeling depressed, angry and rebellious. Really, was it any wonder that he had such a disregard for authority when the only 'parents' he'd ever known had held him to such crap rules?

The ride back from the station was tense, and Harry was glad he'd told Hedwig to fly back from Hogwarts. She would arrive at least a few hours after them, which meant she wouldn't end up locked in again. For safeties sake, Harry had already wrapped up his most prized possessions - the Map, his photo album, and his wand - in his invisibility cloak, which he'd then tucked up his shirt. He didn't want to risk his Uncle taking out his displeasure on things Harry cared about.

Harry dragged his trunk out of the boot once they made it back to Privet Drive, thankful that his uncle spared him barely a glance beyond a grunted, "Put the trunk in the cupboard - don't even think about trying to sneak anything out of it, boy!" Under normal circumstances Harry would be angry, but in the years since the second war started, he'd learned that being angry at things you couldn't control was pointless, to a certain degree. Besides, his uncle wasn't locking up everything. Harry shot upstairs to 'his' room as soon as he could, shoving one of the old bookcases in front of the door while he pried up the loose floorboard and stowed his prized possessions away.

After that he moved the bookcase away from the door again. It wouldn't stop anyone who was really determined to get in, and it would piss his uncle off no end. Harry was going to try to avoid that as much as possible, since he was very much not in need of a new collection of bruises.

Downstairs, he heard a raised voice as his Uncle finally began ranting about the unfairness of the freaks expecting him to deal with the brat completely out of the blue. It was all pretty familiar to Harry who'd heard all of it before, but the words sounded different somehow, blurring together as his uncle spoke slightly too fast and slightly too loud, until Vernon's tongue stumbled over the words like his brain couldn't keep up with his mouth anymore. With a sinking feeling, Harry realised that his uncle was drunk, and getting drunker.

Knowing his Uncle's temper, Harry doubted he'd be getting out of this unharmed. Unfortunately, there wasn't really a way out of it; he couldn't risk using magic, Dumbledore hadn't mentioned whether there would be Order guards around his house or not, and Hedwig wasn't back yet, so he couldn't send a letter.

Only a minute of searching found him a small alarm clock that Dudley had thrown out after getting a better one, and it had volume control so it wouldn't disturb the Dursleys. More rooting around revealed a couple of threadbare sheets, a pad of paper and a biro, several old wooden rulers, a bottle of water and a small solid plastic wastepaper basket. The water was a little stale, but then, Harry wasn't going to be drinking it. He shoved his new hoard under the bed, out of the way of his uncle. For some reason, he had a feeling he was going to need that stuff later.

Harry was jittery for the next hour or so, knowing what was coming and yet still hoping that nothing would happen. He winced occasionally as his Uncle's rants hit a particularly sour note, well aware that the whale of a man was working himself up into a rage. {In some ways,} Harry mused bitterly, {waiting's the worst bit. Imagination's a bitch.}

Vernon's heavy footfalls as the man made his way upstairs might as well have been gunshots to Harry, who was listening for them. He got tenser and tenser as the footsteps thudded closer, and Harry cursed himself for being so afraid of a single Muggle. Then he remembered that he was basically defenceless, and he felt afraid again.

The footsteps stopped at the top of the stairs, and Harry wished desperately that they would move away from him, towards the master bedroom.

Harry didn't often get what he wished for.

* * *

 **So, I have a couple of really short things to say.**

 **1) Yes, I'm leaving it here for now, since A) Natural cliffhanger and B) I reached 4000 words.**

 **2) I'm going through a phase and also really want to write this next chapter, so the next update shouldn't take too long. (No promises though, because since when do I update anything regularly?)**

 **3) I really appreciate it when people tell me what they think. I really really do. I read all my reviews. Sometimes I read all my reviews before I start the next chapter of a story, to help me get into the swing of things.**

 **So, until next time ... enjoy. Shib :).**


	4. Chapter 4 - A Truth

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

 **NOTE: One reviewer mentioned that Hermione wasn't there when Harry didn't shake hands with Malfoy, and while that's correct in the books, I used the scene from the movie since I think Harry insulting Malfoy in front of everyone would make Malfoy even more angry, which fits in better with the story. I'm sorry for not mentioning that last chapter to clear up confusion.**

 **Er ... THIS CHAPTER IS A BIT GRIM AND POTENTIALLY TRIGGERING. I'm fairly sure you'll have guessed what's going to happen to Harry, so feel free to skip that bit if it makes you uncomfortable.**

 **Chapter 4 - A Truth**

Harry really hated his life. His life led to him ending up in his childhood bedroom about to be beaten up by his drunk uncle with no way to stop it that wouldn't result in his getting expelled. His uncle wouldn't care about any of the reasons he shouldn't hurt Harry right now, so reasoning was out. Harry had never learned to fight hand-to-hand, although he was a bloody good shot with a gun, so he couldn't do anything physical. Running away wasn't an option since he needed a place to stay while he fixed the wards, and anyway Dumbledore would just send him back since he wouldn't be able to hide for long.

What he hated the most, however, was undoubtedly the sickly fear that caused his palms to sweat and sent his heart racing in his chest. He was a grown man who'd fought two wars and survived several things that should have outright killed him, and yet here he was, at the mercy of a fat pig.

The thing was, in all of those battles, there'd been something he could do, some way to protect himself or escape. But this wasn't like that - there was nothing he could do to avoid it, to avoid the man tied into some of his earlier bad memories. Fear wasn't rational, and Harry feared Vernon when he was defenceless like this. It was a bitter realisation, knowing that after all this time, he was still afraid of his childhood bogyman. (His childhood bogyman before he knew about Voldemort, anyway.)

Vernon's steps thudded down the hall towards Harry, and his body uncoiled in a mixture of defeat and strange relief. {Waiting's over.} The door banged open loudly as his Uncle pushed through forcefully, looking around the room wildly until he spotted Harry standing by the window. He lumbered forward threateningly, muttering incomprehensible gibberish about freaks under his breath. He swung a fist wide, aimed at Harry's head. Caught off guard by the sudden lunge, he only just managed to twist his head so his face wouldn't get hit before Vernon's fist crashed into his temple, sending Harry staggering with his vision swimming and ears ringing, blood dripping down his face. A vicious shove sent him crashing into the bedframe, his left arm making an alarming snapping sound.

Harry slumped against the end of the bed with his face pressed against the cheap plastic and his arm cradled to his chest protectively, breathing through the pain. He barely had a moment to wonder why his uncle had stopped before his shirt was roughly ripped up and bunched at the back of his neck by one of Vernon's meaty hands, which then pinned Harry, his face pressed uncomfortably against the mattress. The point of this became clear when Harry heard a swishing sound and a line of pain erupted on his exposed back. He jerked instinctively, trying to get away, but a foot to the ribs knocked all the breath out of him, and soon his uncle swung the belt again.

After what could not have been more than a few minutes but felt like a lot longer, the repetitiveness of it was almost enough to distract Harry from the ever-growing pain. His uncle would swing the belt, and Harry wouldn't move for about ten lashes before pain would get the better of him and he'd flinch away. Then Vernon would kick the breath out of him and the cycle would begin again. By the fifth or sixth time this had happened, Harry's world had narrowed down to feeling the lashes land, the blood dripping down his sides to pool on the floor. {Hurts, hurts, hurts.} Harry chanted inside his head, trying to pay attention to anything other than the pain.

His uncle had probably become bored of the belt, because the next thing Harry knew, Vernon had pulled him up and tossed him to the floor violently. Harry could only gasp breathlessly in pain as he lay there, vaguely aware of Vernon's bulk looming above him. He let out a choked scream when a foot stomped on his right knee, a loud snapping sound betraying the seriousness of the hurt. His uncle kicked him a couple more times before leaving, the snick of the lock behind him telling Harry that he wasn't going to be let out any time soon.

{Fuck, am I glad for magic.} Harry thought disjointedly. {This would take ages to heal on it's own.} He lay there for another minute or two, just breathing through the pain. Eventually, he felt well enough to try and sit up. He grabbed the bed with his right hand and pulled himself up, ignoring the burning pain of the cuts on his back as they started to bleed again.

With a little manoeuvring, Harry managed to wrap the sheets he'd hidden around his torso in a makeshift bandage. It was sloppy and wouldn't hold for long, but Harry couldn't have cared less right then. He then set the alarm to go off every twenty minutes in case he had concussion and shouldn't go to sleep, tied the rulers to his left arm to stop the bone from moving around too much, held his head over the bin and washed off the cut on his head, and used the pen and paper to make a list of his injuries; broken left arm, broken right knee, bruised/broken ribs, bleeding back, possible concussion. Harry didn't know if and when the Order would check up on him; if he was unconscious when he was found, it might help if they knew what was wrong.

It also served as a great distraction. Once Harry had finished writing down his injuries, he entertained himself and staved off the black eating up the edges of his vision by drawing a rather graphic cartoon where Vernon got his head blown open with a shotgun.

Hey, he could dream.

Harry had reset the alarm five times and filled half the notepad with scenes from the various battles he'd been in by the time a light tapping sounded on the window. His head shot up, and a wide grin split his face. "Hey, girl." He crooned. "I am very glad to see you." With difficulty, he levered himself up and hobbled over to the window, happiness at seeing his friend overriding the pain. He pulled it open, but stopped her when she went to fly in. "I need you to do something for me, ok? I'm going to smear a little of my blood on your feathers, and I want you to go to either Dumbledore, McGonagall or Snape, whoever's closer."

Hedwig hooted, offended. "I know, I know, you don't like anything messing up your feathers." Harry soothed hurriedly. "But I don't want to explain all this in a letter and I'm not sure Dumbledore would believe me if I did. I'm really not sure he'd believe that it's bad enough to require medical attention. Same goes for McGonagall and Snape. But blood is a much simpler message, and any of them will come if there's a chance that I'm dying." Harry winced as his ribs shifted dangerously, and desperately tried not to breathe too much.

The snowy owl eyed him suspiciously for a moment before hooting softly in acceptance, somehow managing to look resigned. It was the work of a moment to slip a finger under his makeshift bandages and smear the blood on Hedwig's soft plumage. With another soft hoot in goodbye, Hedwig flew off. Harry didn't bother closing the window behind her, instead just turning around and gently lowering himself to the ground, the way the room was moving around him enough to convince him that trying to move back over there was a bad idea. His knee throbbed in pain, as though agreeing.

His head thumped gently against the wall, the room greying in and out. If Harry had more energy, he'd be worried about it. As it was, he could barely keep his eyes open.

Harry knew he must have lost consciousness, because he was suddenly brought to awareness when he heard a loud bang and a crash from downstairs. There was furious yelling from downstairs for a moment, before that cut off as well. Either Order members had just restrained his relatives or Death Eaters had just killed them. Harry found he couldn't care much either way, beyond hoping it wasn't Death Eaters coming to kill him. It wasn't like he could stand properly, let alone fight.

Footsteps came up the stairs, four sets if Harry heard right. {Four people.} Harry thought fuzzily. {Not Death Eaters then. They'd never send only four. Probably Dumbledore. Maybe Madam Pomfrey. Whoever else was around when Hedwig arrived.}

The lock snicked and the door swung open softly. Harry focused blearily on the doorway, and made out Dumbledore's beard before his eyes slipped closed of their own volition again.

"Merlin's beard ..." Someone breathed. Harry was far too out of it to recognise the voice.

"Severus, I'll need your help." A businesslike voice ordered. {Madam Pomfrey.} Harry would know that voice anywhere, no effort needed. {And Snape too, I guess.} Harry felt people moving around him, heard Madam Pomfrey casting her usual diagnostic spells.

"Severus, give him a pepper-up and then a pain-reliever." The medi-witch instructed tersely.

"Pepper-up, Poppy?" A third person asked, worry in their voice. "Are you sure?"

"He needs to stay awake, Minerva." Madam Pomfrey said firmly, but not unkindly. "Sleeping is dangerous for him right now."

Thin fingers gripped his jaw and tilted his head up to hold a vial to his lips. Harry made a distressed noise and immediately tried to flinch away, mind taking him back to the times when a tube had been shoved down his throat. Unfortunately, the liquid still slipped down, and Harry coughed painfully as he tried not to choke. The movement made his ribs shift, a sharp pain in his chest. He just breathed for a few seconds, feeling the pepper-up take effect.

"Ow." Harry said.

"Mr Potter, can you drink this?" Madam Pomfrey asked soothingly. "It's just a pain reliever." Harry felt something pressed into his uninjured hand. Barely stopping to check that it was what the Medi-witch claimed it was, he gulped it down in one go. The empty vial clattered to the floor once it was empty, since no-one bothered to catch it.

"Harry, dear boy, what happened?" Dumbledore crouched down so he was level with Harry. The boy opened his eyes again and regarded the ex-headmaster with unusual seriousness. Dumbledore almost felt uncomfortable under the gaze. It wasn't accusing, although Dumbledore suspected that Harry had every right to look accusing. It was ... heavy, somehow.

"My uncle." Harry said, letting his head thump gently onto the wall. "None of my relatives are very fond of me, and they weren't very pleased with having to put up with me on such short notice."

"How many times has this happened before?" Madam Pomfrey asked, her face pale in the low light, hands moving as she cast spell after spell to mend Harry's arm and ribs, to bind his knee and stop the bleeding.

"Not often, and never this bad." Harry thought back to the times he'd suffered beatings. "Usually only after I did obvious accidental magic where anyone else could see. Like the time I ended up on the roof of the school, for instance. Other than that, my cousin's favourite game as kid was Harry Hunting."

"How much damage did he usually inflict?" Snape's eyes looked like black torches, and Harry wondered how much pain the Potions' master was planning to deal out to the Dursleys.

"Bruises with the occasional broken bone." Harry listed nonchalantly. "Vernon is usually careful not to break bones, but Dudley didn't know how to avoid it."

"Why didn't you tell someone?" McGonagall burst out. Harry shrugged.

"It hasn't been so bad since I informed my relatives that I have an escaped mass-murdering godfather who wants me to be happy but forgot to tell them that he is actually innocent." Harry said with a kind of black humour. "Dudley's been terrified to come near me since after my first year and Petunia never had much to do with me anyway. Vernon usually just leaves me be. I guess an unscheduled holiday for me made my uncle angry enough to not care about the consequences of harming me."

Dumbledore stood up again, looking older than he ever had. "Where are your things?" He asked softly.

"Locked in the cupboard under the stairs." Harry informed him. "The first couple summers he'd lock all my stuff away as soon as we got back from King's Cross until right before we left on September the 1st. I also managed to sneak some stuff up here wrapped in my invisibility cloak; I hid it under the loose floorboard."

Within minutes Harry's trunk had been retrieved and everything that had been under the loose floorboard was safely stored inside it. McGonagall took Harry's trunk, pulling out a phoenix pendant and disappearing with a whispered word, Snape following her silently. Dumbledore cast Harry one more sorrowful glance before heading downstairs, presumably to do something about the Dursleys. Madam Pomfrey pulled out another phoenix pendant and put both her hand and Harry's against the metal.

"This will take us straight to the medical room I set up in Grimmauld Place." The medi-witch said. "It will jostle you about, but the pain reliever is still in effect so it won't hurt, it'll just feel a little odd. I've wrapped you up as best I can, and the trip shouldn't do you any more damage."

At Harry's nod of acceptance, she whispered the activation word under her breath and the world went white as his least favourite form of travel took hold.

* * *

Lucius absently spun the crystal tumbler in his hand, watching the amber liquid swirl inside with a kind of detached fascination, admiring the perfect colour of the very fine scotch even as most of his mind was occupied with more unusual matters.

"After all this time?" Narcissa asked quietly. Lucius inclined his head the slightest amount.

"He could be only a puppet in this." Narcissa mused. Lucius raised an eyebrow. "He is a puppet in most things." Narcissa sniffed in response to his unasked question.

The barest hint of a smile flitted across Lucius's pale lips. "That Potter is. But if he is a puppet, why is the puppeteer moving now?"

"Because the Dark Lord is back." Narcissa stated.

Lucius took a sip from the tumbler. "He has been back since the third task. Why now?"

Narcissa narrowed her eyes. "You do not think Dumbledore told Potter to issue the apology."

"I do not." Lucius stretched out. "And yet, if no-one told the boy what to do, why now?"

"He found out." Narcissa couldn't quite see where he was going with this.

"How?" Lucius questioned.

"Maybe someone mentioned something to him." She rationalised.

"After five years of him being completely ignorant, likely never having even mentioned Pureblood traditions within earshot of Potter, they suddenly let it slip now?" Lucius sounded doubtful. "I do not believe that Potter is a puppet in this case, Narcissa; doing as he is told is one thing, but I do not believe that he could lie well enough to give an apparently sincere apology when he would in reality be most annoyed to have to apologise for something he would most likely not see as his fault."

Lucius sipped from his drink before continuing. "Nor do I believe that it is a coincidence that Potter is doing this now, so soon after the school is apparently purging any attempts of the Ministry to control the students. They are linked somehow, Narcissa. Potter's unexpected, out of character behaviour and Hogwarts herself waking are too close together, and I do not believe in coincidences. But I cannot see how."

"Potter is just a boy." Narcissa said neutrally.

"Is he?" Lucius asked. "I grant you he has no particular skills, or a great wealth of knowledge, but he has escaped the Dark Lord not once or twice but four times. Four! Trained hit-wizards in hiding managed less than one boy. No, Potter may not be special in the conventional sense, but he always pulls through somehow, escaping the Dark Lord by the skin of his teeth. That is an art all on its own."

"You plan to join Potter, then?" Narcissa asked.

Lucius snorted. "I am no fool, Narcissa, and Potter's luck does not seem to transfer to the people around him. Just look at the Diggory boy." He sighed and drained his glass. "I will keep my options open, as I always do. I will instruct Draco to accept the apology, and in recompense for the slight Potter can be taught about Pureblood traditions by my son. Should the Dark Lord fall, at least Draco should have some avenue of friendship to retreat to."

Narcissa inclined her head in acceptance. "Very well. What shall you tell Severus?"

"Ah, Dumbledore's little spy." Lucius said. "Nothing more than I shall tell any other Death Eater. That my son is getting close to Potter so he may better serve my Lord."

"Dumbledore may put pressure on the boy to refuse to go." Narcissa warned.

"The old coot can pressure as much as he likes; the boy has accepted that he owes us this with his apology to the House of Malfoy, and the only way he can get out of it is if I waive the recompense, which I will not." Lucius said disdainfully. "I have no patience for that Muggle lover and his meddling ways; there is nothing he can do to make me free Potter from his obligation."

* * *

Cornelius Fudge was not happy. Hogwarts was slipping further and further out of his grasp, and it seemed there was nothing he could do about it. He'd mentioned replacing Umbridge to Amelia, but the woman had just given him a scathing look and made a hurtful comment about the next one torturing children.

Why couldn't anyone else see that having Dumbledore in charge of all those impressionable young minds was dangerous? Dumbledore was building an army out of them, Dolores had almost had proof, and yet no-one would listen to him! What was worse, people had heard that Potter had been harmed the most. The public was wondering if the Ministry had it out for Potter. Next thing you know, they'd start saying that Potter was right about You-Know-Who all along!

He couldn't trust any of the sheep in the Ministry, the ones who followed the gossip and believed what they were told. But there were others, like that Auror Amelia wanted to suspend last month who was quite devoted to the Ministry's cause. Dawlish, his name was. Cornelius had transferred him to the Minister's guard when Amelia had put her foot down and refused to have him on active Auror duty.

Cornelius smiled, contacting his secretary and asking for Dawlish to be sent to him. Hogwarts would fall under the Ministry's control, one way or the other.

* * *

A cloaked figure rested nir head in nir hand, humming thoughtfully over a chessboard. "Well, isn't this interesting." Nir voice was scratchy, every syllable grating. "She's got herself a little helper." Ne grinned, showing a lot of teeth. "I can't wait to see what he'll do next!"

* * *

 **So this is another chapter, and so soon! It is a bit shorter than usual, but I reached a natural stopping point.**

 **Ne and nir are gender neutral pronouns that mean he/she and him/her, respectively. I used them for the mysterious figure because, well, ne doesn't have a gender. Ne will be the only character without a gender in this story, and why ne doesn't have a gender will be more obvious as you learn more about nir. Spoilers, and all that.**

 **About Harry going to the Dursleys: Vernon acting as he did was both a result of anger at having to put up with Harry unexpectedly and being drunk. Harry went to the Dursleys because he didn't know that his uncle would be too drunk to listen to reason, and Harry didn't want to alert Dumbledore that he was different if there was an Order guard around his house. Also, Harry couldn't claim his Lordship to get free of the Dursleys because no-one can know about Harry's lordship without compromising his secret, since Harry literally can't learn of his lordship until he is seventeen years old, thanks to the strict secrecy spells protecting the identity of the Lords.**

 **Hope that clears everything up.**

 **Enjoy, Shib. :).**


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